


Skybound Sketches [GBF Drabble Collection]

by cdra



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Aphrodisiacs, Breeding, Burnplay, Corruption, F/M, Femdom, Feral Behavior, Gen, Hypnosis, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Sex Pollen, Sibling Incest, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-27 23:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 7,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdra/pseuds/cdra
Summary: A collection of sketch-drabbles featuring a variety of (mostly egregiously trashy) prompts. Many of these are merely the start of an idea; stealing them is encouraged. Read notes on each chapter for warnings.





	1. corruption [belial/lucifer]

**Author's Note:**

> Belial/Lucifer: Corruption of Champions inspired verse, primarily the corruption via pleasure aspect of that. Lucifer got isekai'd into this verse post-death (as did a background Sandy) and Belial probably just belongs here, idk.
> 
> Warnings: Belial is here. Belial is his own warning.

On some level, Lucifer knows this isn’t right. This world is twisted and strange, and it makes a mess of his body; is all of his power lost to him, here? Feeling so fragile, so feeble, it’s unfamiliar to him. He should have listened to Sandalphon this time, as well. He should have learned his lesson from the first time he lost Sandalphon by not listening and understanding; Lucifer should have known to trust him and stay in their home until Sandalphon returned, just as he was ready to wait for centuries to see him one more time.

Even just the  _ air  _ seems to be intent on eroding Lucifer’s mind—no, it’s not the air, it’s the spores within it. They make his body so tense and hot, overwhelming his senses; he wanted to do something about it, yet it only grows more powerful the further he walks from Sandalphon’s home.

He hadn’t expected to find Belial here. the fallen angel he’d parted ways with so long ago—the tightness in Lucifer’s chest is a strange feeling indeed. Is this betrayal? Is he hurt, or angry? Is he still happy to see Belial’s face, after all these centuries—no, millennia? He stands his ground to the best of his ability, keeps a calm expression with a level stare, yet his body trembles against his will, like it still wants  _ something _ .

“Let me help you,” Belial’s voice is dripping with sin, tempting and dark—Lucifer knows he shouldn’t, yet he wants to trust Belial with this. He's naive, too simple in his actions; perhaps he always has been, a tragic sort of flaw that even death itself couldn't quite remove from him.

* * *

A shuddering moan echoes through the room from a sinless voice; Lucifer’s body lights aflame and his fingers curl into Belial’s skin, desperate and overcome. The fallen angel laughs, looking down at Lucifer with all the intent of a predatory hawk, but Lucifer’s vision is too blurred to make sense of it. All he can feel is the heat from where their lower bodies connect, the insane pleasure of Belial filling him up, both maddening and relieving in equal measure.

“A...ah…” his voice shakes and words fail to form on his tongue; the supreme primarch’s mouth hangs open, ungraceful and obscene.

“Hmm? Having me fill your tight ass feels so good you can’t even talk, is that it?” Belial muses, slowly thrusting his hips to prove his point; indeed, Lucifer whines in his soft, silky voice in a wordless response. Something like this, their bodies weren’t designed for it—or, so Lucifer would have thought, yet his flesh responds perfectly and Belial’s seems entirely  _ accustomed to _ this insanity-inducing heat and pleasure.

As Belial begins to find a steady rhythm Lucifer grips at his fellow primarch’s torso desperately, his voice breaking out unevenly despite how he wishes he could control it. He trusts Belial against his better judgement, yet the sound of his own voice leaves him feeling strangely bare; Belial seems to know as much, if the grin on his lips says anything. “I'd never have  _ dreamed  _ that the supreme primarch had such a salacious side—it’s  _ incredibly  _ hot on you,” he purrs; the lustful tone of his voice makes Lucifer squirm wth yet another unfamiliar, uncomfortable sensation. Those words have such power to get under his skin—how? Why?

“But it’s fine, you know? Daddy can take care of all your needs, so let me hear all those sexy moans of yours,” Belial keeps carrying on, like he _knows_ that what he says is having an effect on the (former) supreme primarch against his will. Lucifer’s voice doesn’t quiet, but it doesn’t crescendo, either, staying level as unconscionably lewd sounds spill from his lips. “Your hips are moving on their own… I wonder if you’re getting addicted to this.” And he’s right; Lucifer’s body hardly feels like it’s under his control now, as if it’s come to respond more to Belial's ministrations than to his own wishes.


	2. pollen [lancelot/vane]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot/Vane: Sex pollen. It's... exactly what it says on the tin.
> 
> Warnings: I mean... sex pollen. There's a dubcon flavor to that, unsurprisingly.

“Vane, _wait—!_” he protests, his hands pressing against his dear friend’s chest in an effort to hold him back, but Vane is so overwhelmingly _strong_ and Lancelot’s never been able to hold his own in a grapple like this. Lancelot twists, trying to escape, trying to get the blond’s attention, but Vane’s eyes are unfocused and his breathing is heavy and hot as he draws close to Lancelot’s neck. The air is too hot, the affliction that hangs in it pulling at the black-haired knight’s thoughts, but it’s Vane’s breath on his skin that _truly_ sends his thoughts reeling nonsensically.

Before Lancelot knows it his wrists are pinned and Vane’s mouth is on his neck, kissing and licking and _groaning_ in a way that sets Lancelot’s nerves alight despite how he tries to wriggle away from his friend’s grasp. “_Vane!_” he calls out, tone caught between indignation and whining. The sweet smell of this strange forest weighs on his mind, sends heat pooling between his legs in a way he can’t possibly feel comfortable with, and Vane seems all but lost in it, sucking fervently at Lancelot’s collar.

“It’s _hot_, Lan-chan,” the blond whines, his voice husky against the shell of Lancelot’s ear. It’s true; the sticky feeling in the air envelops them both, after all. A rasping of “You smell… good…” sets Lancelot’s thoughts all wrong, off-kilter with a desire that he’s not accustomed to entertaining like this.

“We have to—get it together, and... ah!” he gasps as Vane begins to mouth at his earlobe, once more short-circuiting all rational thought in Lancelot’s head. The sound of his voice is strange, that flow of needy whimpers hardly sounding like it could come from his own tongue, yet it continues insistently. Vane presses closer in his haze and Lancelot’s hips instinctively rise to meet him, calling attention to the heat and stiffness that’s concentrated there.

“Lan-chan, i want…” the younger knight whimpers, his hands fumbling down to Lancelot’s hips. It’s easy for Vane to press their bulges together like this, and any words Lancelot might’ve been thinking end up lost in a scramble of moans on his tongue. “Want you… want _more_...” Vane breathes, his voice slurred and dripping with need; Lancelot can’t bring himself to struggle anymore, even if he distantly still knows they need to fight this. He shifts to cling at Vane’s arms, no longer pushing away but pulling close instead as his mouth hangs open and he gasps desperately for untainted air.

Vane’s name falls from his lips again, colored with desire; teeth sink into his lip as Lancelot tries his best to pull thoughts together, but the pollen in this swamp seems insistent upon gumming up his good sense and leaving him at the mercy of his body. “Please… we can’t…” but there’s almost no weight to what he says when his words are shifting into moans the longer they drag on. Vane feels  _ good  _ against him, blazing with his own heat yet somehow soothing the burning in Lancelot’s veins; as their hips rock together, Lancelot finds it harder and harder not to completely melt.


	3. dominant [djeeta/percival]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Djeeta/Percival: Femdom. Because Percival must be bullied, it is the law of the land. It's consensual, just Percy has a little bit of brat in his narration.

“You’re really cute when you’re docile like this, Percy,” chimes a sweet tone from Djeeta’s throat; crossing her legs neatly, she gives the leash in her hand a slight tug. Percival tilts his head back and bares his neck, much as he doesn’t wish to; his head’s a loathsome degree of fuzzy under her orders, and he presses a weak scowl into his features for it. The captain—his vassal—hardly seems to pay it mind, though, and she gives a simple hum instead. “Come here,” with another tug of the leash she urges him closer; he’s forced to crawl her way, a fact he knows he should hate far more than he can bring himself to.


	4. pushy [lancelot/vane]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot/Vane: Aphrodesiacs, and also Lanchan being a pushy bottom because that's good.
> 
> ...Sometimes drabbles are really just a paragraph of a mental image, I guess.

There’s a fire in the pit of his stomach, burning so bright that any semblance of rationality in Lancelot’s mind is completely eclipsed by the blaze. Need and want blend together and spread their roots through his form; the combined heat leaves him gasping for breath as he climbs onto Vane’s lap. His blue eyes are clouded with urgency; as his hips rock against his dear friend’s thigh, his eyelids flutter and a shaking breath falls from his lips.

“_V_ _ ane _ ,” Lancelot whines, mouth hanging open slightly as he tries to cool himself down. “Vane, please… I need to—feel you, so much more than this…”


	5. feral [djeeta/zehek]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Djeeta/Zehek: Horny feral boy gets lowkey femdommed, because someone needs to take care of him.
> 
> ...Zehek is my secret stealth fav. Also, my Djeeta is transfemme.

“Dan...chou,” Zehek too-often sounds as though he’s choking on his words, but Djeeta finds that there’s an unmistakably  _ hotter  _ quality to them than usual, today. He’s usually gentle enough with her, even if there's no need to be, yet now his monstrous claws dig at her skin as he presses her against the wooden wall of the ship. He gasps and pants beside her ear as he tugs desperately at her clothes with all the grace of a charging bull. “_D_ _ anchou _ ,” he gasps again, this time with his mouth against her neck as he pulls her hips toward his own. With a strangled sound he bites into her flesh, though despite his erraticness he doesn’t sink his teeth in hard enough for it to truly  _ hurt _ .

A shudder runs through her body and a whine pulls from her throat at the contact. Zehek’s body is overheated, and he makes his needs obvious with how he unconsciously grinds against her; the hardness beneath his pants is terribly evident. “Zehek… does this have to do with… ah!” She’s cut off as he begins to rock against her, grabbing at her torso as his claws wander higher still beneath her shirt.

He gasps against her jaw, his unbandaged eye glassy and disfocused. It’s different from the way he got when the ancient magic nearly reduced him to a monster, though, down to that expression… less pained than usual, less ruined and lost, simply overcome with intoxicating lust. “Need… a-ah…” he pants restlessly as his nails scrape against her back. She sighs and reaches down to assist him—he doesn’t seem terribly capable of undressing  _ either  _ of them, as is.

“I’ll take care of it,” Djeeta hums as she slips gentle fingers beneath cloth. Zehek gasps and hisses; he throws his head back, as if direct sensation is simply too much for his frazzled mind to handle. He’s cute like this—she knows better than to assume he was a danger from the beginning. He’s faltering even now, even when his mind seems so far removed from his actions, in that awkward and strange way he always does, and Djeeta can’t help but be endeared.

And maybe he gets a  _ bit  _ rough, with his claws threaded tight into her hair as he thrusts into her mouth, but it’s nothing she can’t handle. Her length twitches to life, too, from the rough treatment and the utterly unabashed way that Zehek moans and growls in pleasure; his slurred, nonsensical litany of “danchou” and “more” is more than enough to get her blood running hot.


	6. open [naoise/seruel]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naoise/Seruel: Naoise hypnotized to act on his feelings, which makes him surprisingly dominant. Less surprisingly, Seruel's poor submissive braincells can't handle this.

“Prince Seruel,” his voice is hot, dripping with an unfamiliar urgency; his entire body feels strangely light, yet the way he presses it against his prince is anything but. Naoise’s hands hold the erune’s wrists against the wall, grip and gaze sturdy as he looks into Seruel’s eyes; behind the shock that’s begun to wear away, it’s fairly evident that he’s not  _ upset _ .

Naoise’s lips quirk into a grin, and he swears he feels Seruel shudder against him. “...I see now,” he says softly as one hand glides down the other man’s arm, his chest, to rest at his waist as Naoise leans into the crook of his neck. “You wanted this…” His voice barely sounds like it belongs to him, yet it couldn’t belong to anyone else; his breaths fall hot against his lord’s skin. Slowly, as if testing his limits, the knight places gentle kisses along Seruel’s neck, up to his jaw; the way his breath catches and his hips squirm says everything Naoise had wished to know.

“I also… wanted to touch you,” he admits as he tugs at the erune’s waist, pulling their hips together. A low sigh rumbles from his throat; Naoise resumes placing kisses along the veins of Seruel’s neck, each a bit bolder than the last. Desires he’d pushed away, pretended not to notice, they play puppet master with his body now—and perhaps if Seruel wasn’t melting in his hands, he’d try to cut those strings, but surely this desire can’t be  _ wrong  _ if it feels as good as it does for the both of them to indulge in it.


	7. hush [djeeta/grimnir]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Djeeta/Grimnir: gag this stupid boy please he cannot be allowed to speak

As endearing as his babbling is, Djeeta finds that Grimnir becomes much more appealing when he  _ can’t speak _ . He whines wordlessly instead around the strip of cloth tied over his mouth, not  _ quiet  _ in the least despite being gagged; Djeeta hums softly in harmony with his keening as her fingers slip steadily inside of him. Each crook of her knuckles finds Grimnir’s voice reaching new tones, an arcing song flowing from his throat as he writhes against her bed.

“You’re really cute like this,” she observes sweetly, shifting her hips astride his waist, “Be a good boy and relax for me, okay? I’ve got you." Little by little, he melts at her touch, palms grasping at sheets to conceal his nervousness. His tear-misted eyes, so starkly mismatched in color, stay fixed on her despite the heat that weighs down his eyelids and turns his face deep pink. Her fingers move ever more boldly, eventually curling in such a way that Grimnir tenses beneath her and a sharp sound reels from behind his gag; the young captain smirks and eases a third finger inside.


	8. heat [naoise/seruel]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naoise/Seruel: After getting dragon blood, Naoise starts having dragon heats; erunes also have heats in this verse, but well, Naoise is not an erune.

He distantly thinks that this strange, hazy feeling might be akin to Seruel’s and Heles’s heat—the urgency that pricks at his skin, the hot fog over his thoughts as he presses his hips against Seruel’s, it  _ does  _ seem similar to what they’ve described before. Yet Naoise, for all his usual poise, lacks control over this; he groans as he tugs his lord closer, pants quietly at just how  _ nice S _ eruel’s warmth feels against him.

“Seruel-sama…” he rasps huskily, his tone slurred like a man drunk, “This… just this… feels good…” he seems confused at the idea; all he’s truly doing is  _ touching _ S eruel, yet when that simple thing seeps so deep into his bones that he can’t keep still, isn’t that a bit much? His claw-tipped fingers tighten their grip on Seruel’s back, but don’t press hard enough to harm; Naoise’s eyes seem distant even as he presses his forehead to Seruel’s. “More… I want… more of this feeling, Seruel-sama…”

“We mustn’t,” Seruel urges, but the resolve in his voice is weak; Naoise is too close, too brutally, thoughtlessly honest, and it makes Seruel’s head spin. his hands press back against Naoise’s chest, but Naoise can only squirm at the sensation. “Come now, Naoise, you’re—you’re not thinking straight…”

A sound rumbles in the blond knight’s throat, yet it passes his lips in only a whine. He  _ tries  _ to hold himself back, to not push any closer than this, yet it’s to little avail. His hands wander, clumsily tangling into Seruel’s hair; “I know… but I…” he’s not, he’s  _ certainly  _ not thinking straight, but his pulse pounds with urgency and simple, unfiltered want. “Just a little… is it not okay…?” He wants to press his lips to Seruel’s, it’s _so_ obvious in how close he hovers, but Naoise manages to remain a hair’s breadth away instead through sheer force of will.


	9. chains [aglovale/siegfried]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aglovale/Siegfried: *hands you a feral siegfried* *hands you a feral siegfried *hands you a---

A tug at his hair brings a snarl to Siegfried’s lips; his body may be exhausted, but the poison that’s made his mind leave him hasn’t faded. He jerks against the chains that bind him, a growl boiling low in his throat, but the grip on his hair doesn’t falter in the slightest.

“This is what you’ve become, Siegfried? Pathetic,” Aglovale speaks but Siegfried barely registers the words—only the cocksure, condescending tone of them. It sets his skin prickling, his eyes narrowing into a glare despite how he barely sees anything at all. He wants to take this man down, to challenge his superiority—yet the manacles that bind his arms won’t let him get any closer than this, much to his chagrin.


	10. corrupter [belial/lucifer]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belial/Lucifer: Continued from chapter 1, but like, Belial POV now.
> 
> Belial is his own warning. Lowkey all of this verse is cucking Sandy too,

This feeling is beyond his wildest machinations, enough to fill Belial completely and leave him ready to burst—that the oh-so-perfect supreme primarch could be so weak to the sensations of his flesh, isn’t that idea just too ridiculous? Yet here Lucifer is, his legs spread and thighs trembling as Belial fucks into him, his head thrown back and his mouth held ajar by Belial’s intrusive fingers. Somehow, his face stays so calm despite how his body buckles for Belial without resistance; he can still carry an air of perfection despite the mess Belial makes of him. but every heated moan on Lucifer’s lips is a crack in his pristine image, a flaw in his immaculate construction, and the more he hears, the more Belial’s cock throbs with hunger to see Lucifer broken and scattered at his feet.

“A~ah… you’re getting better every time we do this, old friend,” Belial muses, lifting Lucifer’s hips from the ground to find a new angle, to earn new and more ragged reactions. in some search for stability Lucifer’s nails dig into the rug beneath him, but there’s little to be found as Belial ruthlessly thrusts into him. “_Fuck_, your ass is practically pulling me in… even after all the times you’ve let me do this, you’re still so damn _tight_…” Belial’s mouth hangs open as he pants, moaning certain words as he rails Lucifer without a hint of mercy. Beneath him, Lucifer’s expression is distant, lost in the pleasure that Belial feels sure (or at least, _hopes_) he’s steadily becoming _addicted_ to.


	11. alpha [siegfried/lancelot]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siegfried/Lancelot: ABO verse. It's That:tm:

It’s not that he intends to be rough, but Siegfried is hardly the image of gentleness; his grip on Lancelot’s hair doesn’t sting, but it’s enough to white out the younger knight’s thoughts as his face is pressed down into the carpet below. Siegfried presses against his back and Lancelot arches up into his mentor; a whine escapes his throat, low and needy. Siegfried’s breath falls against the shell of his ear as his hips shift against Lancelot’s backside; if he radiates the aura of an alpha any other time, then surely now it’s loud enough to drown Lancelot completely.


	12. insatiable [aoidos/mob]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aoidos + fans: Klesha-induced orgy madness, because wow this really almost happened in Auld Lanxiety huh
> 
> Note: this snippet features a transfeminine character whose parts are referred to as her "cock" (wouldn't want this to surprise and accidentally activate dysphoria in any readers!)

_ More, more _ —the chorus in his head is simple, pounding in time with the rhythm of the bass and the howling of the crowd. A growing appetite spreads its glorious and terrible maw within his gut, insatiably calling to be fed; such a thing does not consume the likes of food nor drink, but instead swallows down the raging shouts and frenzied stares of his captive audience.

“That’s right—give it all to me,” Aoidos slurs, drunk with want and need and the chaotic buzz of pleasure; his fingers have abandoned the frets of his instrument by now in favor of playing an electric melody on the hot skin of his admirers. “Your passion, your love—I want it all, don’t make me wait!” He lifts his hips and presses back into the lap of the woman behind him, and he claws frantically at the clothing of whoever’s lucky enough to be within arm’s reach.

He can’t plead anymore when the strong, salty taste of cock shoves its way between his lips; he hardly could complain about it, though, and instead gives a pleased trill as he takes the stiff, twitching flesh deeper into his throat. His eyes flutter as the sensation sweeps through him—but, it’s still not enough.

Aoidos's fingers grip hard at the man’s hips as the woman behind him strips him of his trousers and impatiently grinds her cock between his asscheeks, her manicured nails digging into his pale flesh. Enthusiastically, desperately, he presses his hips back and into her, hoping to be filled. She obliges him and he gives a muffled howl, taking the man’s cock past his gag reflex in the process—there are bodies clamoring and he can barely process the number of them amid the sheer feeling of fullness and the tears that gather at the corners of his eyes, but he knows he wants them _all_, more and _more_ until he’s finally, _utterly_ satisfied.


	13. human [siegfried]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gen - siegfried pov music about becoming a monster

no matter how strong a single man is, alone, his limitations will become obvious.

siegfried is strong. he has been strong for as long as he can remember, a force of nature at his kingdom’s fingertips—he slayed fafnir with his own blade, but that feat was not accomplished alone, no. had it been, he would not have survived the ordeal.

he is covered in blood once more, now, but it is not the blood of the dragon that clings to his skin—it is his own, dripping from wounds, making his clothing stick heavy to his form. by all means, he should be dead—alone, outnumbered, without a soul to back him, the monsters which beset him should have killed him. but, he isn’t dead yet, he thinks even as exhaustion claims his ragged mind.

he wakes covered in dried blood, and scars.

how much time has passed? the sun glimmers high on the horizon; at the least, midday has come from where night had once surrounded him. his body feels stiff and cold, and yet, siegfried realizes dimly, he feels no pain. looking down at his skin he can see the remains of gashes, ragged and wicked scars over his torso, yet he cannot feel them even when he touches them gingerly, expecting them to still sting. his blood is dry, crusted to his clothes and armor, a gruesome sight—he is reminded once more of the dragon’s blood, fafnir’s blood, covering his wounded body at the end of a grueling fight, staining through cloth and skin alike; the taste of it on his tongue, metallic and ancient.

yes, somehow, he is alive, but he very well may not be human any longer.


	14. dance for me [belial/percival]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> M -- gbvs really did this to me in approximately 3 lines of dialogue huh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't get this one to work the way I wanted to, maybe I'll try to write a proper belipercy another day

He taps a finger beneath the young lion’s chin and forces their eyes to meet, the red of fire versus the red of blood. Belial finds that these sorts of confident and graceful mortals are simply the most fun to watch fall; the thought draws a wicked little smirk across his lips.

“Come on, dance for me,” he purrs, his voice velvet, and the scarlet flame in Percival’s eyes dulls to an unnatural, unaware pink. Percival tenses first, his hand twitching at the hilt of his sword, teeth clenched as he fights. The arrogant puff of his chest isn’t for show, then; he’s quite strong of will, if he can even try to resist a power as thick and overwhelming as the one Belial’s toying with.

“Oh, so you’ve got a little fight in you…? That’s pretty sexy,” the fallen angel hums, bearing down on Percival a bit more, getting closer as the reality-distorting charm magic swells between them. When Belial can feel the mortal’s shaky, shallow breaths on his chin, he also feels the shift in his posture; Percival's knees buckle, just a little, just enough, and Belial finds himself laughing breathily.

“Well, I don’t mind going slow every now and then… though I prefer it  _ hard _ .” He sets a hand on the knight-lord’s shoulder and the subtle-but-firm pressure is enough to find him pushed to his knees, still vacantly staring up into Belial’s pleased, hooded eyes, his lips parted in some vague mix of shock and absent-mindedness. “Okay, we can play a bit, little lion—let’s make it a good round, hm?”

Percival’s lips move, but no sound leaves them—his tongue feels swollen and numb in his mouth, useless for speaking. His legs tremble with weakness, and he barely urges one upward in a sluggish attempt to stand, but Belial drops to a knee in front of him and somehow, it sends what little will he’d managed to muster scattering to the forest winds. He stares forward, captivated in a way he can’t comprehend, his thoughts oddly focused despite how they keep slipping through his fingers like ash when he tries to grasp them.

“Isn’t that armor heavy?” Belial insinuates, his hands drifting fluidly to the hooks and straps keeping that crimson plate on. He moves slowly, but Percival’s faint gasp at his touch indicates that he was still surprised by it—like time’s moving much too slowly in his poor, mortal mind. “Hey, lend me a hand getting it off of you… you’ll be much more comfortable that way.” The redhead’s hands twitch, unsure, but soon enough, without so much as looking away, he begins to unlace his battle-corset as Belial helps him shed chunks of heavy plate.

“Why… am I…” Percival mutters, struggling to wrangle his thoughts into words. His head feels dreadful—too full, yet completely empty, throbbing with a dull, aching rhythm as he tries desperately just to tear his gaze away from belial. His body feels far away, much too light, but somehow comfortable. Even if he doesn’t understand  _ why  _ he’s listening to this man’s suggestions—somehow, he can’t quite stop himself from following along, either, because it’s just  _ easier  _ to go along with what he’s told.

Belial laughs, pleased with his tongue-tied, hollow-eyed prey; he snakes a hand up beneath Percival's shirt and leans forward, pushing the knight part-way onto his back and his knee between his legs. “There, isn’t that better? You look dizzy—do you have a headache? Stress can cause that, you know,” his voice comes low, rhythmic, as his fingers ghost over Percival's abs, making him subtly gasp and twitch. “Let me help you  _ unwind  _ a little... Then we can work on all that stuff that’s got your head spinning.”

The words sink in easily; the pink color in Percival’s eyes gets a little heavier, and his body sinks, the quivering in his numbed limbs lessening. He tries to speak again, but Belial hushes him by reaching under his waistband. “There we go, that’s it… let me take care of all that  _ stress  _ for you.”


	15. twisting fealty [percival/gran]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> M -- yandere percival/gran with a little possession as a treat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where percival is a god of primordial flame and he takes a liking to gran, a human who can see and interact with spirits
> 
> and then percy gets a brainworm of some sort that makes him just a wee bit yandere when gran spends time with other gods, nbd

like a flame starved for oxygen, his chest tightens and flickers, unstable and unpleasant. percival tightens his grip around his adherent’s wrist and his eyes burn as they search gran’s for some answer to which the question hasn’t been asked—not in words, at the least—but gran only looks back at him with eyes wide and innocent and clueless.

“percival—? hey, what’s gotten into you…?”

shouldn’t it be obvious? shouldn’t gran understand the weight of being chosen by a god—of the affection that claws at percival’s throat? and yet he flits about with others, distances himself from percival’s flame—isn’t that nostalgic, in a way? misunderstood pacts and promises, mortals cared for and yet ended by percival’s own blaze—dreadful memories, they are.

“have you forgotten, gran?” the lord of flames growls, pressing gran a little harder into the sheetrock. “i took you as  _ my  _ disciple… it was  _ i _ who opened your eyes to the world of gods. so why…” his teeth grind against each other; his skin grows hotter, the shell of humanity he wears melting against the heat of those unsaid, desperate feelings.

“what…? look, let me go, we can talk about this—”

percival doesn’t heed the plea in the slightest, instead cutting it short by throwing gran onto his back against the nearest table. magazines and a couple of candles scatter to the floor, and gran coughs as the air is snatched from his lungs. his back is bent uncomfortably and percival hovers over him, now holding both of his wrists above his head as he breathes unevenly; the fear in gran’s eyes doesn’t set the flame god at ease, but he’s learned (after plenty of centuries) the necessity of painful lessons.

“do you need a reminder of who you belong to?” percival rasps; his voice spikes at the edges with hysteria, yet deepens to a heated rumble in the center. something claws at his core, scrambles within his chest—it clouds his thoughts and leaves the room spinning around him. “i will gladly remind you—you aren’t allowed to simply abandon me, like they did…”

“what are you talking about?!” gran squirms in percival’s grip, his teeth pressed together; the heat of percival’s hands must be growing uncomfortable. were the situation only a bit different, percival is certain gran could weasel his way out of even a god’s hold—so, perhaps, he remains loyal enough that he would at least not resist? “percival, that hurts, why are you—!?”

ah, but he argues still. percival huffs as he pulls one hand down from gran’s wrist; it seems distorted by heat-haze, flickering and unreal. “be silent,” he intones roughly, though he has to work to still his erratic breathing so as not to show the fear that threatens to extinguish his steady composure. his fingers tense and he snarls, steeling himself—then he presses his palm against gran’s collarbone, the flames still hot upon it.

gran yowls and thrashes and the acrid scent of burning flesh rises into the air; a mirthless smirk spreads upon the lord of flame’s lips. this is merely the smallest hint of his destructive power, yet he’s so long kept it locked up tight—is that what makes this so intoxicating? even if gran is gasping in pain—even if it isn’t in percival’s nature to be cruel—despite that, a satisfied feeling spreads through him.

percival laughs, breathless and a little too high-pitched. “my flames will serve as a reminder upon your very flesh,” he breathes, his eyes still fixed on his disciple’s face even as it contorts in pain. “and a warning to anyone—who tries to take you from me…”

the burn throbs and stings under percival’s hand as his flames settle, and gran pants and shudders with eyes narrowed. with a certain wildness lingering in his gaze, percival lifts his palm and looks at the mark he’s left, intricate and telling in painful, reddened flesh. it’s beautiful because no one could leave such a mark but  _ him _ , a brand of ownership and fealty—quite a heady thing. yet, the raging disquiet in his chest hasn’t quite settled,  _ desperate  _ in a way he’s tried so hard to temper for centuries.

no matter; if this begins to soothe the fluttering in his core so readily, then surely… surely taking a bit more by force is alright, isn’t it? he’s made plenty of exceptions for gran already, after all. percival’s grin sharpens; gran sucks in a harsh breath, and his pupils narrow in fear and disquiet.

distantly, but not quietly, percival rumbles: “...just this won’t suffice, will it…”


	16. delusion [vira/katalina/belial]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E -- vira's mentally corrupted and completely absorbed with wanting to breed katalina, totally unobservant to belial's presence, and kat's just wrecked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was also set in the primordial gods au from the previous but I don't think it has any context at all so HEY
> 
> also vira has a dick bc that's my kink

“Oneesama,  _ oneesama _ ,” she repeats it like a mantra, a prayer for this moment to never end—for what could be more perfect than this? Katalina in her lap, moaning absently with each roll of Vira’s hips—Vira’s cock hot and hard, deep inside of her beloved so that she can feel every inch of Katalina against her. In this moment, she’s claimed Katalina as her own, utterly—her heart soars with each little spike of Katalina’s voice, each twitch of her walls around VIra’s cock.

Katalina has been her everything for a long time—but to be able to  _ have  _ her, for them to be  _ one  _ like this? It’s  _ heavenly _ —Vira simply can’t stop herself from moaning shamelessly as she wraps her arms more tightly around her dearest’s body.

“Oh, you feel so  _ good _ , oneesama—you feel good too, right? You’re tightening up around me so much—” Vira gasps, her voice dripping with heat and adoration. Katalina doesn’t respond except in nonsensical whimpers, too lost in the sheer pleasure of it—but Vira can tell that she agrees, she can just  _ tell _ how good it feels for Katalina, too. “I’m so happy, oneesama—let me give you more, more—!”

Her voice spikes with pleasure and her hips jerk unevenly—within seconds she’s spilling herself yet again into Katalina, pressed deep enough inside that she can nearly feel Katalina’s womb. Vira whimpers openly as she grisp Katalina’s hips, her tongue hanging past her lips as she gasps desperately; Katalina, too, whines and rolls her hips, her eyes heavy-lidded and drool dripping from her lips in an unseemly way. But, even something like that is beautiful on her, Vira thinks.

There’s a pressure against her cock, something forcing Katalina to keep moving against her even as she’s pumped full of Vira’s seed—but Vira doesn’t pay it any mind. She strokes her beloved oneesama’s cheek, calls out to her absently and pulls her into a sloppy kiss.

“Wow, you’re really in your own little world…” a voice that Vira can’t hear lilts, amused; Belial nudges himself deeper into Katalina’s ass, earning a shudder and a vacant whine from the woman. Vira simply plants more kisses onto her jaw, her neck, and slowly starts to fuck Katalina again as well—without the faintest concern for the third party in the room.

“Isn’t this wonderful…?” Vira sighs, enchanted, as she slides a hand along Katalina’s belly, rounded from being overfilled with her release. “Oneesama is going to have my babies… it’s like a dream come true…” Katalina whimpers as Belial thrusts hard into her and she falls against Vira, her breaths overheated and desperate; he grabs her hair to keep her from toppling entirely, which makes her cry out wetly.

Vira nuzzles into one shoulder as Belial bites into the other, earning another sharp whine—fucked-out and doped up on magic as she is, Belial can’t be shocked that Katalina’s beyond forming any coherent words.

“Oneesama… yes, I’m overjoyed, too…” Vira carries on her one-sided conversation, as if she believes it’s reciprocated. “I can still give you more—I’ll give you more and more, you’ll see, so that we have healthy babies…”

Belial laughs darkly into Katalina’s shoulder, pulls on her hair just enough to get her to squeak; this mess is practically making itself, and so far, he couldn’t be more thrilled with how it’s turning out.


	17. heat [djeeta/siegfried]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E -- djeeta using a dragon-cock strap to help siegfried with his dragon heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> interesting that I have written this more than once :thonk:
> 
> one day, I will also write him actually getting fucked by a dragon

his grip on reality is tenuous—his humanity shreds to ribbons between his claws. his nails, too sharp, press into djeeta’s ribs and she steadies his shoulder with a fearless hand; even as a growl, inhuman and imposing, resounds from siegfried’s throat, she stays like an anchor of stone beneath him.

“i’ve got you,” she whispers, undaunted; “i’m not going to let you slip away.”

he has to, though. in order to hold himself together he  _ has  _ to slip away, let the ravening and monstrous part of him be freed and sated—it holds his body already, compels his hips into rutting urgently back against the artificial cock strapped between djeeta’s legs. the grand size of it, the inhuman shape, awakens something beastly in the pit of his stomach: an instinctive, pulsing hunger. each slickened ridge and curve of it against his backside sends shocks up his spine; siegfried pants harshly, his eyes slit and distant and shimmering with draconic gold.

djeeta’s hand finds his hip, reassuring—a lifeline. his claws lack the gentle carefulness of his fingertips; allowed his humanity, siegfried would never dare draw blood from the young captain, but in the throes of his maddening heat, faint trails of crimson begin at his claw-tips and drip down her skin. she does not flinch, however, merely nudging and guiding his hips against the toy she wears.

understanding and reckless need consumes him in a flare, and in a moment much-too-short siegfried slams his hips down atop the girthy, textured toy. the stretch strings and burns and he chokes out a snarl at the sting, yet something deep inside him throbs with need even through the pain. a basal call for more,  _ more  _ rings through him, deafening all other sensations, leaving the sound of his own quickened heartbeat pulsing in his ears as he growls and gasps. he begins to rock his hips desperately, without rhythm or restraint; djeeta places her hand atop his on her waist and threads her slender fingers between his calloused and clawed ones.

“easy, easy,” she soothes, pouring a trickle of sanity amid the flood of bestial madness in siegfried’s head, “i know you’d been holding out for too long, but don’t hurt yourself, okay?”

the words barely register, but her tone does—her  _ intent  _ does. siegfried’s nails loosen their grip and he gives a low rumble of acknowledgement; his hips slow their thrusting a bit, still needy but not quite so rushed as a creature starving. it feels better when he slows down—the heat takes its time soaking through his core with each motion, and when he shifts his hips from side to side he can feel more of the textures of the toy yet, each one scratching at an itch inside of him he hadn’t quite identified before.


	18. siren call [lamorak/aglovale]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E -- lamorak having a little fun with charmspeak and wrecking his big brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my crew is aggressively asking me to post the (few) horrible lamoaglo things I've written so oops
> 
> oh also lamo did some shenanigans and had dragon!sieg rail aglo senseless before this nbd

“wow… this side of aglo-nii is actually pretty cute,” lamorak breathes idly as he grinds against his older brother’s hips—beneath him, the blond gasps and whines so prettily, drool trailing from the corners of his lips as his entire body quakes from overstimulation. the brunet smirks, eyes hooded and darkened; it’s such a rare sight, seeing aglovale so wrecked beneath him that he whimpers, and lamorak is captivated for it.

everything went far,  _ far  _ better than he could’ve anticipated; what started as a little prank has turned into seeing rigid, perfect, domineering aglovale melt into a puddle at lamorak’s mercy, vulnerable like he’s never been before to the sweet siren’s song of his little brother’s voice. lamorak sighs wistfully as he bears down on his brother, drinking in every little moan and sob that he offers so  _ readily _ .

“you must really feel good, making a face like that, aglo-nii. could it be that you’ve always actually wanted to get fucked senseless, deep down…?” lamorak chuckles breathlessly; aglovale makes some motion to respond, but lamorak merely shoves two fingers against his tongue. his tone shifts to something honeyed and surreal; “you definitely did. some part of you  _ wants  _ me to ruin you… that’s why you’re shaking your hips like a harlot for me.” lamorak’s mouth waters as he watches his brother’s eyes go even more dull as the charm sinks in, and he obediently, almost unconsciously, rocks his hips at lamorak’s suggestion; it’s absolutely  _ enthralling _ , seeing just how weak aglovale can become.

“haha… i wanna mess you up so  _ bad _ , aglo-nii,” the sorcerer nearly moans, grinning sloppily as he lines his cock up properly with aglovale’s still-damp entrance. “that dragon of yours did some real work… but you’re not satisfied, ri~ght?” lamorak cups his brother’s face, a dark heat sparking in his red eyes as he slowly pushes his way inside, watching how aglovale tenses and squirms as he’s filled up. “don’t you fret… i’ll make a wreck out of you soon enough.”


	19. [lamorak/aglovale]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E -- absolutely horrible thing where lamorak's possessed by a tentacle creature and due to Reasons has aglovale grow tits so the tentacles can breed them
> 
> WARNING: incest, egregious hentai, breast growth, mention of breeding breasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not held responsible for the absolutely obscene awful hentai shit that comes out of my fingers at 4am
> 
> ...fucky lamorak has been living rent free in my brain for nearly a year by the way

“they’ve gotten so  _ big _ ,” lamorak purrs, his hands kneading indicatively yet tenderly at his brother’s chest through the cloth that so poorly contains his swollen breasts. aglovale’s breath hitches at the contact, his cold expression almost instantly melting as he pants softly; he starts to ask lamorak to stop, as he ever does, but the younger merely scoots forward along the bed and presses closer against his back, breaths in the smell of his meticulously-kept hair. “i wonder if they’re almost ready to hatch?” as lamorak speaks idly, aglovale shudders and his posture loses its strength; this sort of vulnerability is  _ such  _ a good look on him, lamorak thinks.

“lamorak, please…” the elder gasps and shifts uncomfortably; he’s certainly getting hot from this alone. lamorak hums questioningly as he squeezes his brother’s breasts, earning a quiet cry; he’ll never get enough of how sensitive aglovale is.

“hehe, begging me when you don’t even know what you want… I  _ really  _ like that, aggy.” lamorak reaches up to sweep long blond hair away from aglovale’s pale neck, only to resume his gentle groping as he kisses at its nape. “i’m going to take care of you, but i certainly won’t stop you from begging…”


	20. [mob/aglovale]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E -- aglovale gets cursed (by lamorak) with a bio female body that's ridiculously sensitive and needy, then he gets fucked by some random erune in an alley while incognito
> 
> WARNING: contains misgendering (of a cis person in the body of the opposite sex)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to not be responsible for these things my hands do after 4 am
> 
> this is connected to the previous one, unsurprisingly

nothing about this is as it should be. aglovale is the king of this land, proud and strong; he shouldn’t be at some thug’s mercy in the alleys of his own city, and he  _ certainly  _ shouldn’t be pressed against cold brick and panting like some common whore merely from having a stranger’s filthy hands pawing at his chest. the only saving grace to this is that the thug doesn’t recognize him—but, that doesn’t make anything he says easier to hear.

“amazing… i really hit the jackpot, finding such a slutty woman out here,” the erune man hums, all too satisfied as he hikes up aglovale’s dress and presses their hips together. aglovale can feel the thug’s cock twitch beneath his pants, and his teeth clench in disgust—yet, his head only seems to fill up more with a hot, sticky sort of desire.

“unhand… me,” he snarls weakly, but a mere pinch to his swollen, erect nipple makes him gasp and buck under his assailant; the lowlife has the nerve to laugh as he twists the stiff bud between his fingers, still feeling aglovale up over his too-thin clothing.

“the fuck? you’re trying to play like you’re all high and mighty, when you’re soaking wet and needy as hell just from me grabbing your tits? there’s no point,” the thug points out with a hint of exasperation. he’s right, of course; fluid trails down aglovale’s thigh, exposed to the air with how his clothes have been so brusquely shoved out of the way. the more his hands work at aglovale’s chest, the more the blond’s head fills up with a ringing noise and the sound of flames eating away at his sanity.

he stops and aglovale whines at the lack of contact, a further point to how needy he absolutely is; the erune hurriedly removes his belt and produces his curved, dripping cock, and aglovale finds himself shuddering at the sight of it. “you want this, right? a desperate whore like you shouldn’t bother playing around like you don’t love it,” he purrs, moving aglovale’s underclothes aside so he can line his cock up with the blond’s dripping slit. he doesn’t provide any further warning before slamming inside; aglovale moans at the pressure, his vision spotted with white at the suddenness of it.

“shit, you’re pretty tight, too… better than i’d expect from such a needy slut,” the thug gasps as he grips at aglovale’s hips; he lifts the royal up with only a bit of effort, pressing him harder against the alley wall as he seeks a pattern in his thrusts. he growls praises that sound more like insults as he settles into a rhythm; aglovale’s breath catches in his throat each time that cock hits him a certain way.

“please, m-my… my breasts, too,” aglovale stammers as his mind leaves him, his pride burned up in the overwhelming sensation that consumes him; “touch them, please,” he pleads just as lamorak told him to, and it seems to work perfectly, considering how the man chuckles before roughly grabbing ahold of aglovale’s over-sensitive tits.

“you like having your tits squeezed that much? not that I’ll complain,” he growls as he ruts into aglovale hungrily, keeping him aloft purely by the force of his fucking. “bet you could get off just from me touching them… maybe next time we could try it,” he drawls around heavy, panting breaths; “how’s that sound, huh?”


End file.
